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The BOMB

Welcome to the BOMB.



The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

My photo
My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my thirteen year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my two year old gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Sailing Over Salado

I sailed over Salado before I realized it. I should have expected it. I was prepared for it. Or so I thought. No,  I was prepared for it. I knew it was happening. I even had a reminder it would happen just a couple of weeks ago when they completed the Belton fly-over.

When they first started construction of the fly-over exit from an interstate to a major highway, my initial thought was, "Wow, we are big enough to rate an elevated exit."  

The initial false assumption quickly gave way to the reality:  my small town was deemed too small to trifle  with by the myriad of travelers in a rush to get from some place else to someplace farther away.  The first exit after the fly-over hits the loop that is the southwest edge of my town. Effectively bypassing us. Rather than being a quaint place to rest and relax, to park and ride, to spend a slow afternoon, we have been effectively cut off from the south.  Unlike Salado, whose only major highway is now raised high above the store rooftops, Belton still has several interstate exits. But I wonder:  how will these highway "improvements" impact our two towns economically in the years to come? Will the quiet artist community of Salado wither? 

How many travelers will not discover the reasons I love my Chisholm Trail town of Belton? 

I love the slow-paced life of small-town life that allows for strolling from downtown shop to downtown shop--no power walking or purposeful strides tolerated here.

I love the Rush Hour Traffic that delays my commute by five minutes rather than hours. I love that passers by, neighbors and strangers alike, raise a hand and nod their head in friendly acknowledgment.  

I love the lonely sound of the train whistle as it passes through town at 10pm, 12 midnight, and 2am.  

I love siting at the rivers edge watching the water drift lazily. Or picnicking at the dam at sunset as the colors of the sky change from simply stunning to spectacular in the blink of an eye. 

I love the chimes of various churches that announce the top of every workday hour. 

I love snatches of the Thursday evening concerts the wind sometimes carries all the way to where I live. 
How many of these activities will passers by never know existed? Thinking about "improvements" that save me time so I can frantically rush to the next activity, the next thing, the next whatever, rather than savoring the here and now--improvements that actually detract from my small-town life I penned the following poem. 

The Rush

Rush! Rush! Rush!
Everyone's in a hurry. 
Nothin' but speed and worry. 
Fast paced lives. 

We don't sit. 
No restin' to recharge spirit. 
We just about can not bear it. 
On the go. 

We don't rest. 
No watchin' the sun greet morning. 
Refusing to heed the warning:
We need rest. 

Fast paced lives. 
Bypassin' everyday pleasures. 
No time for anything leisure. 
Rush! Rush! Rush!

'til we die. 
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